


But You Can Blame Me When There's No One Left To Blame

by Sunquail



Category: Hatoful Kareshi | Hatoful Boyfriend
Genre: BBL spoilers, Gen, Hitori is an angry stressed teen trying to do too much tbh, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunquail/pseuds/Sunquail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The burden is on him, for better or for worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But You Can Blame Me When There's No One Left To Blame

**Author's Note:**

> I thought of this when I was on a long car journey with my sibfriend, so that was nice. I can't have been the only one to think of this but I'm pretty sure I'm the only one to write it down.
> 
> more birds being terrible.

The click of the door closing seemed deafening in the silent office, and Hitori tried not to think about it too much. He wasn’t used to silence - wasn’t fond of it. He pulled out the chair opposite the desk, and perched on it, hands in his lap, fisting, unfisting, staring blank eyed at nothing, down at his dark feathers, at the floor, at the side of the desk. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He didn’t look up as the director lowered himself into his seat opposite. He was an aging bird, and peered over his round glasses at Hitori for a moment after he sat. It took a moment longer for Hitori to look up and meet his eye.

"Uzune-kun," he began, "I expect you have an idea of why I wanted to talk to you."

Hitori didn’t answer. He knew.

"The incident was…devastating, I know—" (no you don’t you weren’t even there) "—and I recognise in the aftermath this won’t be the easiest procedure. But it remains something we have to discuss."

He gave a pointed little stare at that moment, like he wanted Hitori to give a small verbal acknowledgement or a head inclination to signify he was paying attention. Hitori offered nothing. The director continued.

"This is regarding Fujishiro Nageki’s guardianship."

At this, the quail’s stomach tightened. He didn’t want this talk. He didn’t. He knew what was going to be said. He knew what was going to happen. He felt his pulse in his head and glanced to the desk again. A stapler. One of those pen caddies. A computer, of course, the portion of the monitor visible showing a screensaver bouncing around it.

"You turn…18 years old this month, is that correct?"

He nodded. Hitori didn’t keep much track of the days since…then. But it was at least a couple of weeks since. He and Nageki had been admitted to temporary housing for the time being, until everything was. The words ‘cleaned up’ stuck in his mind and he winced.

Nothing had seemed real. Days just…happened too fast for Hitori to be able to count them as days anymore. He discussed many things with many officials, now including the orphanage director who had overseen Heartful House, and he’d done it all on a kind of autopilot. Like the world was grey and slow and he was trying to maneuvre everything underwater. He had to take care of it. He had to take care of everyone. He had to take care of everyone.

Nageki, meanwhile, barely spoke at all.

"Uzune-kun." The director leant his elbows on the desk, feathers steepled, peering over his glasses with a soft expression of…concern? Pity? "I know you want what is best for Nageki-kun." Understatement. "And you don’t become a legal adult for another two years. I think it may be wise to consider the option of foster homes."

Hitori’s eyes narrowed. He considered his words for a moment before speaking. “Nobody has adopted any of us before,” he answered, his tone soft and icy, “so why would it make a difference now? Nobirdie wants a war orphan.” He didn’t dwell on self-pity. He’d liked that they’d all gotten to stay together. He’d liked the patchwork family system they’d stitched together through shared lostness and circumstance. They hadn’t needed anyone else. “…Besides,” he added in a low murmer, “Nageki needs special care. He’s sick. I can take care of him.”

The director raised an eyebrow so subtley Hitori was certain he’d not intended to do it in the first place.

"There are advanced medical facilities across the country, Uzune-kun. And you aren’t the only birds to have lost family members. Many parents have also lost children. We can arrange for families to take you in, until you reach adulthood."

He inhaled softly and continued. “It is important that you understand there is a chance you will be separated.”

And Hitori’s heart lurched. He’d known it was coming. He knew they would consider splitting them up. He knew it and he’d barely reacted when he considered the possibility itself…instead stored the outrage and the fear inside himself, nurtured it like a growing beast. “No.”

"Uzune-kun—"

"I said. No."

The director sighed. “Uzune-kun. We are in the aftermath of war. You know how hard it is to provide for others. Supporting one child alone is enough, but to support two, one of whom requires considerable more expense as it is…”

He said more, but the chilling pang of fear settled that Hitori himself would get ferried off someplace whilst Nageki wouldn’t be taken for the worry of the price looming above him…or worse, if he got passed around like some unwanted pet…

"…It’s important to understand that we all want the safest and most comfortable options for you and Nageki-kun. You’ve both been through a lot. You deserve nothing but the best options."

Best options? He thought THIS was the best option? Hitori’s fist closed tighter in on itself in his lap. “Haven’t you seen how Nageki is handling this? He hasn’t spoken at all, and he hardly eats. He saw the entire thing. You don’t know him as well as I do, NOBODY knows him as well as I do, and I know what he needs! I can take care of him, I have to!”

"You forget that you’re a child yourself."

He almost laughed. “Don’t patronise me. I’ve been looking after him this entire time. I’ve been looking after ALL of them.” He took a deep breath to steel himself - if he broke, he wouldn’t be able to prove himself, and that would be that. “I can take care of myself. And I can take care of him, too.”

"Listen to me, Uzune-kun." The director stood up. His height wasn’t especially imposing, but his chest puffed a little like a man at the end of his rope. No doubt he’d been busy all month. Hitori didn’t care. "You need to calm down. You are thinking with your emotions over logic and the long-term. This is Nageki-kun’s wellbeing at stake. You may have been able to provide for him adequately, but his living conditions could improve tenfold. And I know that interests you."

For a second the quail played it out - Nageki, without him, alone with strangers. Nageki, without him, cared for, fed, under a roof with a loving new family. Nageki, without him, improving in health, in happiness, forgetting anything was ever bad…

Could Nageki ever forget about him? Would it be better for him to? What could Hitori do for him that a new family with access to all kinds of care couldn’t?

"He…" Hitori began, aware his voice was shaking a little. "He needs me. If I was apart from him it would just make him worse." He repeated it, for emphasis, to solidify it and assure it. "He needs me."

The director relaxed his posture. He tilted his head in a gentle, exasperated kind of gesture that Hitori would have often done when one of his siblings was in trouble. “You say that, and I believe it to be true. But…” He paused, and sat back down. “Don’t you think it’s perhaps that you need Nageki-kun more than he needs you?”

He may as well have punched Hitori in the face. He didn’t know what to say to that - the director had unravelled an insecurity and it was staring him in the face, leaking out into the air and filling his lungs. He was going to drown in it. Nageki was young enough to settle into somewhere else and build new connections after a while, moreso if there were distractions and medical facilities available for him. But this had been Hitori’s life. With nobody to validate his existance…with nobody to determine his use, what could he do? How could he function alone?

He swallowed thickly and stared down. It was a tough call. He felt sick. He didn’t want to be selfish. Of course he wanted what was best for his brother above anything else - what he wanted for himself was unimportant. And there was only so much he could do for Nageki. He was only one bird. And he knew already that one bird’s hard work still didn’t cover what had to be covered.

It would be the selfless thing to do. But he was selfish. And he was scared.

"Please," he said, his voice low, forced out of the tremour edging the syllable, "Please don’t separate us."

The director sighed, picked up some papers from behind the computer where Hitori couldn’t see, and straightened them.

 

* * *

 

Occasionally, someone would walk through the corridor outside the office, and glance at the small figure slouched on a chair a little way away from the door. They’d usually pay the bird no mind, but sometimes, someone would linger, recognising them, feeling a touch of…pity, or something. Nageki noticed them. He didn’t look up, but he could hear the faulter in footsteps, and the ruffle of feathers. It was fine. He could tell.

He’d been here a lot in the past couple of weeks. Hitori tried to make him stay home whilst he sorted out the formalities of their situation, but he was tired of Hitori pretending to be an adult - they were both children, and they both may as well do what they could. Even though Nageki could hardly think these days. Even though he more often than not waited outside, like today, knees pulled up under his chin, curled up under himself. Even though he didn’t know how to help even if he could, and it was up to Hitori to take the shoulder of the burden, again.

Nageki wasn’t even upset about it anymore. Just achingly numb. Hole-in-your-chest kind of numb.

He heard a loud snap from down the corridor and flinched visibly, furiously forcing himself to calm down because it was just the door opening - just the door opening and his brother emerging, that was all.

No guns anymore.

He stayed where he was, his legs shaking a bit much to stand and greet his brother immediately. He watched Hitori advance and tried to determine the outcome of the meeting he only had some idea of the content of. The quail was hunched a little, head down, hands in pockets. Nageki’s heart sank. He knew what was coming next.

Hitori reached out and gently ruffled Nageki’s hair. He smiled. Nageki’s heart sank. Every time something went difficultly. Every time.

"Sorry you were waiting so long," Hitori said, the weariness evident in his voice, "The director really talks a lot, huh?"

Nageki unfolded himself and stood. “What was it about this time?”

He noticed the hesitation before Hitori replied. “More paperwork, mostly.” He rolled his eyes. “There’ll be an end to it, eventually. How are you feeling?”

The automatic response ran, and Nageki caught Hitori’s slightest inclination of a frown, and Nageki didn’t feel like talking anymore.

 

* * *

 

A week later, a letter was handed to Hitori as he finished a quick breakfast for Nageki, and he threw a glance over his shoulder at the dove before he opened it and skimmed across it. The tension ebbed away from his shoulders and he read it again, over and over, to make sure he’d gotten it right.

_"—permission for you to act as Fujishiro Nageki’s legal guardian—"_

He didn’t think about the meeting. He didn’t think about the other options. He didn’t think about himself. He thought about the way nobody could read Nageki like he could. And he thought about how it would be hard work…truly, truly hard work…but if he could do it, then nobody else could make Nageki’s quality of life better. That’s all there was to it. No one had helped them in the past. And it was up to him to rely on himself now.

He hadn’t been there when it happened. He’d left Nageki when he was alone and afraid. It was the least he could do. It was all he could bring himself to do. He didn’t think he could live with anything else.

He folded up the letter again and slipped it under a pile of his textbooks, glancing back briefly at Nageki as he did. “Hey,” he called, and walked back over as his brother glanced up. “I just got some news.”


End file.
